


Crystal Clear

by Merit



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim was born with a blank wrist. It doesn't bother him. Much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crystal Clear

It goes like this, when you are born you can have a name on your wrist, you might not but as soon as your soul mate is born, it should appear. Tim is born with a blank wrist.

His father, apparently, laughs and says his boy will be cradle snatcher. He grows older and the jokes become worse. When he is younger, he doesn’t always get them. He screws up his face and says he doesn’t want to date a _baby_ because he’s a big boy. Later Tim becomes used to rolling his eyes at his father’s crass jokes. When he sees him, that is.

It doesn’t help, that his parents, frozen smiles and half hearted touches, weren’t each other soul mates. Tim is five, his mother is drunk, and she tucking him in even though he went to sleep hours ago. She is whispering into her ear, wet and too loud, that she never found her soul mate. Her wrist is still pointedly blank. That at thirty she and his father decided that waiting wasn’t doing them any favors. They married and had him, she said, stroking his face, eyes full of tears.

“Do you think you will find them?” Tim asks, because he’s young and he wants his mother to be happy.

His mother laughs huskily and shakes her head, long dangly earrings shining in the dim moonlight. No, she says, pressing a damp kiss against his forehead. I think it is a bunch of nonsense, she adds, eyes distant. Tim nods, because he thinks it is nonsense too.

As he grows older, as he goes to school, most of his classmates already have names on their wrists. Girls and boys compare wrists and giggle when names match. They eye each other, noses sometimes wrinkling, because surely their soul mate couldn’t be smelly George or freckly Lavinia?

Their teacher, Miss Mills, sighs and sits them down for a discussion.

“See my wrist?” She says, holding up her hand. _Louise_ is scrawled across it, messy loops and fine lines. “This is what my wife’s signature looks like. Not when she was nine or sixteen. But when she was twenty three,” she waits for the message to sink in, “There are lots of Louises out there. I sometimes wondered if I would meet this Louise. Turns out she had been a friend of a friend for two years before I saw her name written down.”

“So you didn’t know?” Tim asks, he leans forward, eyes intense.

She laughs, “Unfortunately not,” eyes crinkling. “The universe gave a little push, not a big one.”

Tim sits back, dissatisfied. He would know, he thinks, he would know if he was speaking to his soul mate. He’s glad that this whole soul mate business must be fake.

 

* * *

 

He’s older and Batman just grunts when he sees his blank wrist. “That’ll make life easier,” he says, adjusting the mantle on the Batsuit. “If you lose a glove,” he shrugs, “No identifying details can be traced back to you.”

Tim nods. This makes him feel special, useful. Who cares if he doesn’t have a soul mate? He doesn’t _like_ romance. He’s _saving_ people!

Bruce smiles and Tim smiles back. Robins are supposed to make Batman smile. That’s partly why he’s doing this, because Dick can’t and Jason is dead.

“And at least you don’t have Dick’s problem,” Bruce mutters quietly. Tim flicks his gaze back to him, but Bruce is studiously looking away from him. Tim shrugs.

 

* * *

 

The first time he sees Dick, not just through a camera lens, it hits him. Is this what it feels like to be in love with someone? Is this what people feel with their soul mate? He thinks through the thudding of his heart.

Dick smiles at him, big and bright and Tim can feel himself smiling back. Dick’s joy is just infectious, he thinks.

He’s been admiring Dick for years, since that last night at Haly’s Circus. But the more time he spends with Dick, he realizes how much he likes Dick. He likes his corny jokes; he _likes_ how much he makes a stand for justice, he likes how much he _believes_ in other people. Even if he can’t be with Dick – little _brother_ , he hears Dick’s voice in his head - he admires Dick.

Dick’s just wearing a short sleeved shirt, instead of his Nightwing costume, when Tim notices his wrist. He goggles for a moment, because out of all things, he hadn’t expected _that_. Dick smiles when he catches Tim looking. Tim flushes a dark red, apologies already on his lips when Dick shakes his head.

“Most people have that reaction,” Dick says, his voice warm. He pats Tim on the shoulder. “Most people just have one name on their wrist but it is perfectly normal, if rarer, to have more than one,” he says. Tim flashes back to his own wrist and bites his lip, suddenly ashamed. “Hey, Tim? Just because you don’t have a name there doesn’t mean you can’t be with people.”

“I know,” Tim says.

“I’m sure you do,” Dick says. “God knows I haven’t just been with the people on my wrist,” he says, tapping at the skin there.

“I’ll think about,” Tim murmurs.

 

* * *

 

He decides to date Steph because why not? She makes him laugh, she’s pretty and she understands if he can’t make it to a date because of his cape duties. Also she said yes, which is quite important.

Steph does insist on one thing, though. She nervously shows her wrist and when he shakes his head, she sags and looks a little disappointed.

“Oh well. This is good for now,” she says, swinging her legs. They’re high up, with a perfect view of Gotham, smog and all. “I have never met a guy with this name,” she says, putting her glove back on. She gives him a side long glance, “Of course with you, I never know if you’re lying or not.”

“On this one I’m telling the truth,” he says. “Scouts honor.”

She giggles. “I don’t think you’ve ever been a Scout,” she says, “Even if you are well prepared!” She adds, eyeing his utility belt.

He smiles. This is nice, he thinks.

 

* * *

 

He’s fifteen and a name appears on his wrist. Tim stares at it for several seconds before reacting. He pushes down his shirt and focuses on his exam. Since his mother died, his father is paying more attention to him. Juggling being Robin and a familial relationship is difficult. During dark moments he envies, Dick, Jason. It is more important than ever to do well on his school work.

He doesn’t look, can’t look, until he’s in his room and the door has a chair shoved under the knob. Tim takes a deep breath and quickly slides up his shirt sleeve. It is red. He hasn’t seen a red name before, he thinks idly, tracing the name. It is also in a language that he doesn’t recognize. Tim frowns at that. He may not be fluent in all languages, but he’s familiar with the major twenty language systems. It doesn’t look like any he recognizes.

Surprisingly, Google doesn’t have the answer. The color seems familiar, but he just can’t recall where he had seen it before.

Tim feels unsettled. For years he has quietly rolled his eyes at the concept. But now that there is a name on his wrist, he is... curious.

It is because he couldn’t recognize the name, he tells himself.

 

* * *

 

There’s an emergency and Tim doesn’t have time to tell Batman about his soul mate’s name appearing on his wrist. It isn’t till after, when he is washing blood off in the showers, that Bruce grabs his wrist and looks at Tim accusingly.

“I was going to tell you,” Tim says. He shifts, every movement sending pain down his back where he had been thrown against a wall. He has split lip and that’s going to be _fun_ to explain to his father. He raises an eyebrow and looks down meaningfully. After a pause, Bruce steps back and orders him to appear in the Batcave when he’s dressed.

“I was going to tell you,” Tim repeats, as he enters the Batcave, a towel slung across his shoulders. “It just appeared two days ago and we had that mess with the Scarecrow to deal with,” he says, shrugging. “There wasn’t any time.”

“Hmm,” Bruce grunts. “What name is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Tim admits, playing with the mark. There isn’t any up raised skin, but he _knows_ it is there.

Bruce turns in his chair, one hand stretched out. Tim places his arm there and waits as Bruce examines it. “Ah,” he says and his face is studiously blank.

“I can’t read it,” Tim admits. “I researched it and nothing.”

“It isn’t known by many people anymore,” Bruce says, a curious emotion appearing in his eyes. “Most of the readers were killed thirty or so years ago. By Earth reckoning.”

“It’s alien?” Tim asks. There’s an idea nagging at him, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Kryptonian,” Bruce says tersely.

“Superman?” Tim exclaims. “But he’s old,” he says and stops. Bruce raises one eyebrow. “I meant too old to just appear two days ago.”

“Indeed,” Bruce says, a small smile on his lips. “The other alternative is Supergirl but she’s too ‘old’ as well,” Bruce pauses. “I’m not sure about Kryptonian reproduction but based on evidence I have gathered it appears that they are mammalian like humans. It would be difficult for Supergirl to hide a pregnancy. And Superman,” Bruce leans back. “I’m sure he would have told me if he had impregnated someone.” Bruce almost sounds hurt.

 

* * *

 

One excruciating embarrassing conversation later, Superman was standing in the Batcave, informing Bruce, that no, it wasn’t possible that he had impregnated someone.

“Are you one hundred per cent positive?” Bruce says silkily, sounding a little too amused.

Superman’s eyes flash, but thankfully not red. “Yes, _Batman_ ,” he says pointedly. “I’m sure.” He looks over to Tim and smiles, and even tired, he seems kind. “Can I have a look at it?”

“Sure,” Tim says.

Superman’s examines his wrist for several seconds, before staring up at the bats chittering on the roof of the Batcave. “Did you notice?” He asks Bruce quietly.

“I tried not to make any conclusions,” Bruce says. “My knowledge of Kryptonian isn’t perfect.”

“Of course,” Superman says, as he sits down on one of the Batcave’s chairs. It squeaks a bit under his weight, but holds. “It is a family name. My _family_ name.”

He pauses.

“Have you heard about Superboy, Tim?”

He has. He knows about the strange teenager who appeared in the wake of Superman’s death. He knows how he jaunted off to Hawaii to fight crime there. Batman likes to keep tabs on other heroes, and Tim likes to know who he might be facing in the future. Especially when they might be a clone of Superman.

“But he’s been around for longer than a couple days!” Tim exclaims, hand over his wrist protectively.

“I only gave him that name a few days ago,” Superman admits. “We haven’t always gotten along,” he adds. “He’s a good boy though.”

Tim nods numbly.

 

* * *

 

He’s been watching him for a few hours now. He looks normal, in a ridiculous teenager sort of way. Tim, as the epitome of white bread, doesn’t know how he feels about the gold earring. He decides he approves of the leather jacket. He’s still undecided about the hair.

The boy, because he’s not a man yet, finally turns and glares where Tim is hiding. “I know you’re there,” he says, hands on his hips. “Come out!”

Well yes, Tim thinks. Because he had been making very little effort to actually hide. But in any case he jumps off the roof and lands neatly a few yards away from Superboy.

“I’m Robin,” he says.

“They say you’re an urban myth,” Superboy says. “Um. They say Batman is. They don’t mention you as much.”

Tim shrugs. You don’t become a superhero for ego. Or well, you _shouldn’t_.

“But I hear you’re one of the good guys even if you do lurk in the shadows,” Superboy says, shrugging his wide shoulders. “Is Batman here?”

“No,” Robin says, “Just me.”

“Is there a threat facing Metropolis? Because I just moved here a week ago and I’m still finding my way around the place,” he says, grinning a bit at Tim.

“No,” Robin says, “No threat.”

Superboy’s brow furrowed. “Did you want a fight?” He studied Tim for several seconds. “I think I could beat you,” he says confidently. Tim represses a snort.

“No,” he says dryly. He pauses. He has thought about this, of course he has. But facing Kon-El is entirely different story. “What do you know about soul mates?” He asks.

Kon-El shrugs. “Seems like a bunch of shit,” he says.

“I’ve always thought the same,” Tim says and walks close to Superboy. He’s taller than Tim by a few inches and up close he can note the resemblance to Superman. There’s human DNA in there as well, he knows.

“Want to patrol together?” He says.

“This is still my town,” Superboy says. “You have to go back to Gotham at the end of the night and I don’t know, lurk more in the shadows.”

Tim nods.

 

* * *

 

The first time they fuck, Tim keeps the gauntlets on. Kon raises an eyebrow. “Really?” He says. Tim smiles. Kon grins filthily back. “Kinky,” he murmurs, running a finger down the gauntlets.

“If you say so,” Tim says, eyeing Kon’s wrist band pointedly before reaching out and running his gloved hand through Kon’s hair. Kon rubs his hand against the gauntlet, smile wicked. He leans down and kisses Tim, hot and demanding, so hot that Tim wonders if it because Kon feeds on the yellow sun. He’s running his fingers up and down Tim’s side and Tim always thought he would need more, but that simple motion is driving him closer to frenzy. He thrusts up against Kon, thankful that they are both (mostly) naked.

Kon’s got a lazy smile on his face that Tim does not trust. He kisses at Tim’s nipple, tongue wet and firm, one hand braced against Tim’s chest. Tim shudders and gasps. He reaches out and grabs Kon’s spare hand, licking at the tips of two or three of them. He inserts them into his mouth, sucking them. Kon’s pupils dilate.

“You wanna do something else with that mouth?” Kon says both a request and a dirty innuendo. Tim blushes and nods. “How do you want to do this?” Kon says, leaning back, both hands on his knees. It gives Tim a great view of his bobbing cock. It looks pretty human, too, which is a plus. Tim swallows and Kon’s eyes follow the motion with great interest.

“I want you against the bed frame,” he says, shifting out of the way as Kon follows his orders. Then Kon is resting against the bed frame, arms at his sides, his legs spread wide, his knees slightly crooked. Tim edges closer, trailing his gloved fingers along Kon’s legs. He isn’t sure if he should wrap a hand around Kon; his gauntlets weren’t made for sex. So he leans forward, looking up at Kon through his lashes, as he tentatively licks at the head of Kon’s cock.

The effect is instantaneous. Kon trembles, all the way down to his toes. His eyes half close and he smiles languidly. “Just like that Tim,” Kon says indolently, “I wouldn’t say no to more tongue though.”

Tim obliges. He spreads his hands on Kon’s thighs and takes Kon’s cockhead into his mouth. Tim doesn’t have much experience with other men, but he’s fairly certain that Kon tastes good. He moans around Kon’s cock because he _likes_ doing this. Kon’s hand is in his hair, scrunching and unscrunching. Tim arches up into his touch and Kon’s grip becomes more confident.

He thinks he’s getting good at it, judging from the sounds Kon is making. He messily licks Kon, before dragging his tongue down Kon’s cock length. Kon groans and Tim grins. He mouths at Kon again. Even through the gauntlets he can feel Kon’s thigh muscles clenching. He pauses, wondering if he’s doing the right thing.

“Don’t stop,” Kon whispers. Tim looks up. He looks _desperate_. Tim grins.

It doesn’t take more sucking before Kon is pushing him away, coming in stripes across Tim’s chest. Somewhat bemused, Tim rubs a bit off with one of his gloved fingers and licks it. Kon is watching him with heavy, dark eyes.

Smiling, Tim leans forward and kisses Kon. Kon kisses back possessively, his tongue sweeping ever corner of his mouth. Kon even seems to growl his satisfaction.

“You still wanna come?” Kon asks, his hand splayed on Tim's stomach. Tim can feel the leather of the wrist band pressed against his belly. It just makes him harder.

Tim raises one brow. “Of course – ”

And the rest of what he might have said is washed away as Kon takes a firm grip on his cock and brings him to orgasm.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up and he’s in pain – massive excruciating pain. Tim attempts to fight it for several seconds before the pain intensifies and he starts to black out again. He thinks he hears a murmur of voices – male, young, Kon – before he passes out.

Later he wakes up and he’s in pain but it is manageable. Tim opens his eyes, blinking away who knows how many days of grit. He’s in a hospital room, he thinks.

“Hey,” Kon says. Tim turns his head slowly and smiles. But judging from Kon’s expression it probably didn’t come across as reassuring like he intended.

He swallows and is now aware of how dry his throat is. “Water,” he croaks and Kon quickly pours a glass from a nearby jug. He helps Tim sit, or at least rest against higher up on his mountain of pillows, and presses the glass against Tim’s lips. Tim takes several sips before closing his eyes, suddenly tired.

“You really worried us there,” Kon says softly. He’s put the glass down and has threaded his fingers through Tim’s. “They weren’t sure if you were going to make it.”

It doesn’t feel like he has made it, but Tim decides to be quiet on that.

“You know when I was, uh, born,” Kon mutters, “I was born with a blank wrist. They had implanted information about soul mates and how their name is supposed to appear your wrist,” Kon laughs. “You know how I said that was bullshit? When I said that, a name had just appeared on my wrist. When Clark gave me my name,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t like how it was taking choices away from me.”

Tim squeezes at Kon’s fingers.

“I saw your wrist, Tim,” Kon says.

Tim freezes, which several parts of his body dislike and protest strongly. He thinks he doesn’t breathe for a while because his vision starts to be peppered with black spots. Tim takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling.

“Did you want to see mine?” Kon asks.

He really, really doesn’t. But he doesn’t think he can get out of the hospital bed. He’s tempted to just close his eyes but that would probably loos more embarrassing in the long run. Tim turns as Kon removed his wrist band.

_His name is there_.

Tim gapes and then his gaze flashes to Kon. Kon’s smiling warmly.

“I guess it explains why we were such good fuck buddies,” Kon says, putting the wrist band back on again. Tim stares and Kon grins. Then Kon’s look goes soft, a smaller smile appears on his face. “Just try not to get hurt, Tim,” he says.

Tim nods, even though both know he _can’t_ promise that.

Kon places his hand on Tim’s hand and Tim closes his eyes. He’s exhausted. He goes back to sleep, comforted by Kon’s presence.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for trope_bingo's third challenge for the space 'soul bonding/soulmates'
> 
> I messed with the DC (pre-reboot) timelines a little bit but probably no worse than what DC has done :p


End file.
